Poem

Whispers

~ Ron Walker ~ 4 Comments

Whispers…

I thought you said you loved me, but it was whispers on the wind…
And sometimes when it’s late at night, I hear those words again.
And when the rain is falling, so softly as a mist…
I hear a sound that whispers, a sound just like a kiss.

When the moon is shining full, and it shows me where to walk…
I hear the wind flow through the trees, I remember how we talked.
With faces close, and hands held tight, no words were needed then…
Between our hearts, our love would pass, like whispers on the wind.

I thought I felt you love me, like it would never end…
But standing here alone at night, I wish my heart could mend.
The rain mist falling on my face, to mix with tears again…
I stand and say I love you, my whisper to the wind.

The days are loud and busy, I fill them with my friends…
But when the night comes calling, the whispers start again.
But maybe on a late dark night, when I think it’ll never end…
I’ll hear you say you love me, in a whisper on the wind.


©Ron Walker November 1998

Saturday Serenity

~ Ron Walker ~ 7 Comments

I had taken a walk this morning through the neighborhood and could smell someone cooking a late Breakfast or Brunch. I could hear the ringing of a hammer on an anvil as the gentleman across the way was working on a new knife using his forge. That is a distinctive ring and from a distance it is as soothing as a rain on a metal roof. Slow rhythmic rings.

As I arrived back at the house I was struck by the strange sight of grass that needs to be cut. This is February and I need to cut grass? To say this has been a mild Winter for us would be understating it.

As the Sun was setting tonight I was thinking of what a great Saturday this has been. I didn’t go anywhere and just stood on the deck and soaked in a perfect day of clear blue skies and a breeze that was steady and cool. I think the high was about 70F and the breeze became a wind at times around 12-15 mph. Trees swaying and leaves blowing about reminded me of a poem I wrote some time ago and will leave it here for others to enjoy.

But the day draws to a close now and it’s time to settle into other activities inside.

Comments welcome,

The Wind

The wind blows freely across the way, it has no boundaries set…
Sometimes it’s warm, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes it can feel wet.
It plays on days when the sun is out, it dances between the trees…
It flows and blows, and drafts on by, only seen by moving leaves.

It must have life, for all the sounds, it makes when passing by…
A screaming gale, a moaning wail, and then the softest sighs.
It plays with things, that lay about, left by you and me…
But when we look, it drops them down, does it do this just to tease?

The rain and dust, to most of us, can be a mess some days…
But to the wind, they’re like a friend, and many times they play.
I’ve seen the dust play in the yard, and then there comes the rain…
I listen to it calling me, tapping softly on my pane.

It has to know so much of us, as much as it’s around…
But it keeps its distance most the time, in the trees above the ground.
Like a child at play, it makes them sway, they remind us of a time…
When mothers dear, would hold us near, and rock to nursery rhymes.

©  Ron Walker October 1999

From Ron’s Poems Amazon

Count the Blessings you do have.

~ Ron Walker ~ 4 Comments

This was written around 2000 when we had lost everything we had and were living in an 18 foot Airstream Trailer that was falling apart. We were glad to be there. You may reuse it as long as my name appears at the bottom.

Do not pity me…

Do not pity me, for I do not wake in the middle of the night from hunger, as some do…
Nor do I suffer not being able to hold my love, for at least I have arms to hold her.
Though I may not have riches to see a fine play or dine in pleasure,
I can wake to a morning sunrise, and drink of it’s beauty till I am full.
My shoes may not be the fanciest, nor keep my feet dry in the rain,
But they remind me that I do not have to walk bare foot upon the stones.

I once raced along life’s highways, working frenziedly for things of wealth.
I see now as I walk more slowly, that which I had passed by unseen.
For by giving up some of the luxury of life, I have found more time for beauty.
Without riches, I still have more treasure in simple things once taken for granted.
Castles and fine rugs can only soften my step, they cannot teach me how to walk.

Do not pity me, for life has taught me more than I could teach myself,
In the hardships I have learned to survive, and appreciate simpler things.
When I sit and enjoy the twilight show of a setting sun, I pray for those who cannot see,
I close my eyes and feel the warmth, and listen to the wind as they do, and enjoy it still.
I take a moment to reflect upon what I have enjoyed this day.
And when the morrow comes, I will seek out other of life’s simple treasures.

Do not pity me, for my treasures abound… in life.

© Ronald Walker

Motor Officers Poem

~ Ron Walker ~ 6 Comments

I enjoy seeing this small piece I wrote so long ago being used in celebrations, memorials, sites and books. I wrote this the year after leaving the Motorcycle Division of Prattville, Alabama. I was Motor Officer Unit 222 (Motor Officer Instructor)

If you’d like to use it, feel free to do so as long as it is not used for monetary profit and the copyright is on it somewhere. Please leave me a comment if you liked it, I enjoy seeing and hearing it used. There is no greater honor than knowing it was used in remembrance of a fellow officer.

 

Motor Officers

It sounds like thunder far away, but the skies are blue and bright…
And soon they crest the hill nearby, and ride into our sight.
They shake the ground with powerful sound, and they make some hearts beat fast…
They look so proud and noble, like Knights come from the past.

Side by side, they always ride, and seem to move as one…
From early in the morning light, to the setting of the sun.

And children point and wave to them, from cars that pass them by…
And young ones ask their parents, why the men have mirrors for eyes.
They ride the roads, and fight for good, and defend small ones like you…
They ask to ride, and do with pride, and sometimes they are few.

Like men of steel, on silver wheels, they sparkle in the light…
then with a roar and rumble, they ride out of our sight.

Sometimes when one has fallen, never to ride again…
You can hear the others calling, like thunder on the wind.
Side by side, they slowly ride, and their thunder is a mournful sound…
And the mirrors hide their eyes from us, when teardrops fall to ground.

So if you see one riding, and you look into his face…
You see your reflection in his eyes, you know that you are safe.
For motormen are a special breed, they love to ride the wind…
And when you hear the thunder boom, the fallen ones ride again.

©Ron Walker October 25, 1998

Thanks to all the Officers that work to keep our world safer.

Comments Welcome